


Stalemate in Violet

by elebuu



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Chess with Cryptic Metaphors, F/M, Summoner WoL, Tension, but i can't help myself and i am thirsty, character study -ish, exploratory scribbling, irresponsible rambling that 4.5 will absolutely shoot down, unfinished drabble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elebuu/pseuds/elebuu
Summary: Cut off from her goddess, her friends, and her besieged homeland, the Warrior suffers alone in the imperial palace.Alone with the enemy across the playing table.





	Stalemate in Violet

“Would you care for a game?”, he asked, his back still turned to her. When she did not answer, he inclined his head back to look over his shoulder at her, a brow flicking upward.

“…A game. _Really_.”

“Else I could leave you to your boredom and madness, I suppose.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, irritated. The man was a gifted reader of intention, certainly, and it angered her the way he could pluck at her nerves like they were the strings of musical instruments. Her mouth set in a line, lightly pursed, expecting him to continue.

“ _Chaturanga_.” He turned slowly, approaching her with a lecturer’s countenance and a fine ironwood box with heavy clasps in both of his hands. “In its olden days, rather. You know it now as chess.”

The Warrior of Light suppressed an overpowering urge to roll her eyes and snort derisively. “You might have spared me the abstract reference.” That earned her a low chuckle from the bottom of his throat as he unfastened the heavy hinges and languidly began to arrange the board upon a nearby table.

“Do you play?”, he called, largely for the courtesy of the thing. She was skeptical that there was real concern in his voice.  
  
“…Not in a long while, and not well.” She shifted her weight, arms folding around herself. The palace had an eerie quiet about it, as though everyone who lived or worked there made every effort to avoid it at all times. The chambers, as a result, felt no less than colossally empty; underused, drafty, and seeming faintly to age without so much as a cursory residency. Even now, with both of them in the same wing, the sheer dearth of dwellers made the air feel as cold and still as a crypt. “So what do you stand to gain from an easy victory?”, she pressed.

“Oh, I’ve no intent of playing to win, dear Warrior.” The board thus arranged, Solus seated himself gracefully—and making rather a show of it—and laced his hands into one another, a nest of prim white fabric that obscured the interested smirk taking over his mouth. She followed suit, her motions stiff and unobliging. Her eyes, wary and sharp with defiance, never left his face as she sat in one of the finely stitched chairs across from him.

“I simply wish to observe your thinking processes. How you assess the battlefield… plan for the long game…” His gaze trailed down the outline of her arm, lingering on the rigidity of the hand she placed upon the table. “…how you respond in the face of sudden pressure, and against terrible odds.”

She remained silent. Thus far, his observing had the probing intensity of a predator’s attention; yet, she thought, frowning, not in the same manner as his great-progeny. Solus did not pierce her with his stares as one who regarded her as prey. No, it was assuredly something else—something that hid from her behind the glint of interest in his golden eyes. They were like fresh amber that pooled around her, trapping her like a struggling insect.

“Which shall you play?”, he inquired, interrupting her fugue.

“Er—which pieces?”

“Just so.”

She stared at them. Undoubtedly fine, crafted by some expert hand, be it machine-assisted or with only the unmotorized tools of eld; rows of little polished statues both elegant and austere, like the rest of their surroundings. “…I suppose I’ll take the white.”

He tittered at that. “Going with the poetic, are we? You of Light, with the ivory—I, with the onyx?” If he could smile without a sneer, she’d yet to see proof of it. His dark, high-peaked lips seemed incapable of breaking the unsavory hook at which they played. “Very well. The first move is yours.”

Her eyes flicked up to him, hackles already raised; but found nothing new in him. For better or for worse now, he was watching with curated neutrality.

She looked down at the miniature armies in front of her. Though they stood rank and file, proud in their tiny dignity, she felt exposed just peering among them. Deciding to swallow her hesitation, she lifted a pawn and nudged it forward, nausea already building down the tract to her stomach. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hate how much i already ADORE this disaster man who's out to ruin my life. I NEED MORE. 
> 
> 4.5 when, yoshi-p


End file.
